


what took hold

by logictron



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logictron/pseuds/logictron
Summary: He wonders if it’s strange, wanting to go out with her, wanting to talk to her more. Maybe another version of himself would just want to sleep with her. After all, at the end of this, he’s going back to Turkey and she’s staying here.





	what took hold

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I have literally actually ZERO idea how this happened. But it did. And it wouldn't go away. It'll have more to it eventually but I'm going to try really hard not to write any more of it until I finish up either madness game or how to return home. Try being the operative word.
> 
> Thanks to the team, as per usual, for dealing with my epic randomness and also my stupidly prolific writing. :)

He comes back with the team for debrief. It’s not exactly protocol, but this deployment has been hell on all of them, and for the better of the last month, Xander’s been seeing each of them on a semi-regular basis as they’ve processed everything that happened to Preach. It’s strange, really, to get such a complete view of things. Xander finds himself protective over this team, almost proud of them. So coming back with them makes sense.

Admittedly, he does feel a bit out of place here, though. With all of them together. All of them happy, relieved to be done, to put this deployment successfully behind them. They’ve stared death in the face and cheated it, time and again. Xander doesn’t do that anymore. He faces ghosts instead, the ones left behind by missions gone awry. So sitting here, with the reminder of his past, of being in their shoes, is a little unsettling. 

Until she walks in.

They’re at the hotel bar, and Adam had told him their DIA counterparts were coming. But Xander hadn’t expected that to mean _her_. He’s not taken with women very often. He’s made peace with the fact that his work is more important than building personal relationships. Romantic ones, anyway. It’s hard to work a job you can’t talk about. The ghosts follow you home. They lurk.

But he’s still a man, okay. He’s not blind. And she...is worth looking at.

“Hannah,” he echoes her name with a warm smile, shaking her hand. 

There’s a scar on her neck, he notices. Probably only because he’s spent so much time trying to forget his own (successfully, by now). It’s well shadowed in the dim light, under the collar of her shirt.

Her eyes widen a fraction at his voice, or maybe his tone, and his narrow in response. Trying to get a read on her, though, is nearly impossible. He’d venture she’s made a profession of keeping things under her hat. A profession that left her with scars. A profession before this secondary one. Like him.

It’s no real surprise that he finds himself next to her later, at the end of the long row of tables they’d commandeered at the start of the evening. He’s just been watching the team unwind, observing and studying and taking note, for no other reason than that it interests him. But now he’s focused on her.

“Having a good night?” he asks, still not sure what to make of her. 

“It’s nice to have everyone here. But it’s a little strange,” she admits. “Overwhelming, maybe. Surreal.”

“You know, I think I understand that,” he laughs. “So, what were you before? FBI? CIA?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re very good at your job?”

“Dodging questions by flattery! An unexpected tactic, Hannah.” He likes the way her name sounds. The way she blushes doesn’t hurt either.

“Well, I can’t make your job that easy,” she says, twirling the stem of her empty glass between her fingers.

“No, I guess not. That’s alright, I don’t mind the challenge. I welcome it, actually. Can I get you something else? A water maybe?” He hasn’t been keeping track but the sheer number of empty glasses and bottles on the table speaks for itself.

“Water sounds good,” she agrees with a thankful smile.

When he returns with their water, Xander can’t help but note she looks a little tired. Maybe more than a little.

“Long day?” he asks, taking his seat beside her again.

“Long...year?” she tries.

“Your first? With them?”

“You keep doing that, I’ll start believing you’re a psychic and not a psychologist.” Hannah hides her smile with her glass.

“Who says I’m not.” He grins back, enjoying the challenge of her. Only because it’s a game and they both know it. He’s not being paid to analyze her. He wouldn’t want to be.

“Yes, my first year,” she says, not offering him anything new, but it’s something better than deflection.

“And before that?” He still wants to know.

Hannah’s hand goes to her neck, to her scar. It’s progress.

“Before that, apparently I worked for a secret government agency,” she says, watching him watch her. Her tongue drags over her lips and he knows she knows exactly what she’s doing. But all of this is still a deflection from the bigger picture.

“So you spent some time dodging questions from therapists, is what you’re not saying,” Xander presses, levelling her with his best professional stare.

“I’d say that’s a fair assessment. But hey, I had to convince them to let me go back to work, right? That’s something.”

“That’s more than something,” he agrees.

The call goes up for last round, and even though he’s exhausted, he can’t help but feel disappointed. This conversation is only just beginning. He doesn’t want it to end.

“I was wondering, would you like to have dinner sometime? I’ll be in town.” He wonders if it’s strange, wanting to go out with her, wanting to talk to her more. Maybe another version of himself would just want to sleep with her. After all, at the end of this, he’s going back to Turkey and she’s staying here.

“Dinner would be nice,” she agrees, snagging his phone from the table in front of him and putting in her number. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll figure it out.”

He stands when she does, taking his phone back and pocketing it. “Let me walk you out.”

As they stand on the street and wait for her cab, Xander’s hand finds the small of her back. It’s the lightest touch but she flinches anyway, and he instantly retreats. Without meaning to (maybe the alcohol got to him a little more than he realized), his eyes find the scar on her neck again.

“There’s more where that came from,” she says, without looking at him.

“For me, too.” Her gaze settles on him and if she’s trying to mask her surprise, she does a terrible job. “Before this, maybe I did my fair share of question dodging too.”

The cab pulls up to the curb and Xander opens the door for her.

“Call me tomorrow,.” She’s looking at him differently now and he realizes maybe he should’ve been less professional all along. He’s forgotten how to do that a little bit.

“I will. Goodnight, Hannah.”

“Goodnight, Xander.”

For as much as he loves saying her name, hearing his might be better. Tomorrow, he’ll call. It can’t come soon enough.

**

When he calls, she sounds surprised. Xander wonders at that.

“Do men usually not call?” he asks.

“You’re doing your creepy savant thing again,” Hannah replies, the surprise fading to amusement.

“Sorry. Hazards of the job. I don’t...do this often. The dating thing,” he explains, hoping it’s not a deterrent. 

“That makes two of us.”

“But you’d still like to go to dinner?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she agrees. He can hear the smile in her voice.”I think I would.”

It’s a date.

**

At Hannah’s recommendation, they go to a local Thai place. It’s trendy and a little crowded, which surprises him. He’d figured her for someplace quieter. She picks the seat against the wall and he figures that’s the compromise.

“So, tell me a secret,” Hannah says, fingering the edge of her menu without opening it. From the way the host had greeted her, it’s obvious she’s here a lot.

“A secret? Hmmm. Believe it or not, I’ve never had Thai food.”

“Never? Well, then I’m glad we’re finally rectifying that. That’s not acceptable.”

The waiter comes and they order drinks, along with an appetizer Xander can barely pronounce, but Hannah seems at ease, and he’s enjoying that.

“I guess I shouldn’t bother looking at the menu?” he asks.

“Not unless you don’t trust me.”

“You haven’t given me a reason not to. Now you owe me a secret.”

“What, you haven’t gotten me entirely figured out?” she asks, laughing softly. At the deflection, some mild tension works back into her shoulders.

“Not by a long shot. Where would be the fun in that?”

“I met the president when I was 8 years old. I decided that was what I wanted to be when I grew up,” she says finally, glancing at him like maybe it won’t be good enough.

“You met the president of the United States when you were 8?” He chuckles. “I have no doubt you’d be well on your way to that dream by now if you still wanted it.”

“I figured out I preferred being in the middle of the action, not so much dictating it from the sidelines.” Regret clouds her eyes and Xander refrains from reaching across the table to take her hand.

“Maybe it isn’t the path you would’ve chosen for yourself, but from what I heard last night, you do an incredible job.”

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

He cocks his head and waits as the waiter delivers their drinks. Hannah orders seamlessly. And then they’re alone again.

“I had no intention of asking, no. Why, did you want me to?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs and stares down at the table for a minute. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“That would make me a bit of a hypocrite.”

“Can I ask you?”

“Firefight in Syria. Got caught up. Shot in the neck.” His fingers find the scar and he turns his head so she can see. “Almost didn’t make it. Some days, I wished I hadn’t.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not anymore,” he confirms with a reassuring smile. “And you? I mean, how do you feel about surviving.”

“It’s...getting better. This year has definitely helped.”

“But that’s work and this is personal,” he guesses, because she’s still a little tense, a little guarded.

“The scars tend to scare men away. This isn’t the only one.”

“Does it scare them? Or you?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“A little of both. I think you owe me another secret for that one.”

“I haven’t gone on a single date since Syria.” That feels like the kind of secret she’ll appreciate. And it’s true.

“Why not? I mean...you’re good looking, sweet, intelligent...maybe a little creepily observant.” Hannah winks at him and Xander might blush a little.

“I spent a lot of time working on me, you know? And then I got so focused on work.” 

“That sounds a lot like an excuse.” She purses her lips and arches her brow at him, challenging.

“You have a point there,” he agrees, rubbing the back of his neck with a chuckle. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are. And I’m glad.”

The waiter brings the food and Hannah’s foot slides up his calf under the table. He spends the rest of the meal trying not to make a fool of himself. From the way she’s smiling, he thinks he does a pretty good job.

**


End file.
